Apokalipsis
by Vanya Heart
Summary: December 22 of 2012 has passed, and the world has fallen into ruin. The countries are scattered across the land, and the only one with knowledge of the apocalypse has fled. Alone in this cold and desolate world, Russia wanders around in search of the others, in search of life...or death, which he found, can be more merciful than the former. Discontinued.


Apokalipsis

The snow blew in flurries around the landscape, which had been turned into a ruin. Everything was silent, and desolate. The trees were spiny skeletons of what they used to be, and the sky was a slate gray color. No clouds graced the grayness, and no sun shone through. The sun, when glimpsable, was nothing more than a dim yellow smudge in the sky.

Streets were littered with waste; trash, fallen buildings, and dead bodies were scattered throughout every town and city. Rats swarmed upon the decay, feasting themselves fat, and growing to monstrous sizes. Everywhere, the wind blew sharp and merciless. Sometimes, it seemed like the world was crying for the loss.

Everything had changed, it was all wrong: the ocean had become a humongous demon surrounding the countries, raising it's ugly head to bash at them every once in a while, and spitting up mutated sea life. Every mass of land fathomable had been connected. It was as if a sudden gravitational pull of the Earth had pulled, mashed, and squashed them all together, until they were all one giant piece of land, surrounding the world, forever connected and inseparable...

Russia, of all people, should've enjoyed the concept of everyone becoming one. It made things all the more easier. Now, he could finally be what he had always wanted to be: the hero. He could keep everyone under his rule like quiet little underlings, and no one would ever make war again. No, all they would do was love each other, and love him, and he would never be feared again...but this was not so. Russia, in fact, _hated _the fact that the countries were all one at the moment.

To begin with, it was all America's fault. He had warned them, repeatedly, at every world meeting for the past six months of the oncoming danger. He had known, but since he was the idiot he always was, and could provide no scientific evidence, no one would listen. Then, a few hours before December 22nd, America had taken off in a spaceship with Tony. He didn't offer to take anyone else with him, he just left. _Some hero... _He left, and the world soon after went to ruin. He had warned them. He was right.

Another think that annoyed Russia immensely was that, while the countries all in all were connected to one another now _geographically_, there were no loyalties whatsoever. No one was under his rule. Even the Baltics had left his servitude a long time ago; Russia was alone like the remaining humans of the earth, and he owned _nothing_. No one. To add to this, he had seen no countries ever since the apocalypse had happened. He was alone, in this bitter and cold world, and, admittedly, he felt his strength dwindling, day by day. It was not too noticeable - why, he was still the great and powerful Mother Russia - but still, it was happening.

_I must find the other countries. _He thought to himself as he made his way through the knee-deep snow towards a nearby ruined city. He had no idea where he was, everything had been so twisted and strange since _that day_, and he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck in irritation. _America. This is all his fault. _He reminiscenced bitterly, arriving at the city and taking his time walking through its rubble. He remembered the look in America's eyes the day _before _everything had gone to the hell it was now, and yet, that day, America had said nothing. _He could have tricked us. _Russia reflected, longing. He giggled slightly at the thought. _He could have told us to all come to a party...or come, have an adventure with Tony, with me, with out spaceship... _Russia's thoughts trailed off into nothing. "The times are dark, da?" He said aloud, his voice sounding strange to him as if hit the cold air. "I should not be thinking such _stupid_ thoughts."

Almost in response to his voice, something made a quiet wailing sound. For a second, Russia fancied that it must be a cat, and he wondered what cats tasted like. He hadn't eaten in days, and he really was hungry, though death was something that could not touch him... The wailing came again, this time more shrill, and more desperate, and Russia realized, pressing his lips together firmly, that it was a person. _There is nothing I can do to help humans. _A voice inside him whispered, but still, he made his way towards the source of the cries.

Wading through a pile of gleaming white bones, Russia approached a small, run-down house. It looked like it used to be an apartment, but the building had crumbled, and now all that remained was the very bottom floor. There was no roof upon it. "Privet?" Russia called. An agonized moan answered him, and Russia walked through the gaping square hole where the front door used to be. Inside the place, it was dark, and damp, cold, and smelling of death, and shadows seemed to leer at him from the walls. He flashed them a small smile in return.

"Auuwaaaahhh..." Whined the voice, straining in the darkness. Russia went over to it, discovering the source of the sound curled up in a corner. It was a girl. Her skin was pallid and sunken in, and her hair tangled and covered with filth. She looked almost like a skeleton, and when she breathed, funny gasping noised came out of her throat. "Auuuwaaaahhh..." She wailed, and her eyes flashed bright in the darkness as she curled into herself even more. This seemed to cause her pain to do so, and she screeched weakly at it.

Feeling anger and sadness well up within him, Russia knelt upon the ground beside the skeletal human. He placed a hand upon her bony shoulder, and gave her a reassuring smile. "Are you ok?" He asked her.

For a moment, it seemed as if she didn't even feel his hand, or see him there, and then her eyes flickered up to his face. They were wild, those eyes, and held some strange sort of dead hope in them. It was awful to look at. "Leauf..." She spat at him, froth running from the corners of her mouth and dripping white upon the floor. "Gaa-aa waaaay..." She slobbered, and her hand shot down to her stomach. There was a sickening noise, similar to the sound of someone splitting an extremely juicy fruit, and then Russia felt warmth upon his knees.

He didn't move for a while. He knelt next to the girl, his hand remaining on her shoulder, his knees remaining in her blood. When she grew too cold to possibly hold anymore life, he rose from the floor, his clothes stained with red. He didn't look down - he didn't want to see what horror she had been twisting into her stomach, killing herself slowly all the while. _She couldn't take what the world has become. _Russia thought, exiting the barren building and stepping out into the freezing world once more. _If only I could end myself the way she did. If only I could die... _

Fantasies of death passed through his mind. He thought about how it would feel, to die, to _really _die, and never come back. What came after death? Darkness? He had once asked Lithuania what happened when they all died. His servant had looked at him, obviously lost in deep thought, tapping his slender finger against his chin thoughtfully. "What _happens, _Litva?" Russia had urged him, poking Lithuania's forehead a few times.

Sighing, Lithuania had reached up and touched Russia's hand. It was one of those rare and wonderful moments when he ceased to be timid, forgot he was a servant, and became wise and strong once again. When he replied, he said, "I honestly don't know, Russia...all I do know is that, whatever happens to us, it will happen to _all _of us. We won't be alone, at least." Although it wasn't a solid answer that Russia had wanted, it was a bit comforting. At least he wouldn't be alone.

"I won't be alone, when the time comes..." Russia said aloud, his eyes glistening lavender in the dulled sunlight. "I will have Lithuania...I will have _everyone_." _Everyone __**but**__ America. _A voice chuckled bitterly in the back of his mind. _Fuck America. _Russia replied to it.

XXXX

By the time night fell, Russia was no longer in the city. He had left it as quickly as possible, leaving the dead girl to decay alone in that building. He _had _contemplated burying her, but, he was afraid he would cry if he looked upon her again. Not that there was anyone around to see him cry...

Nonetheless, he had left her untouched. The arctic nation had journeyed past the city and into the depths of a great and gray forest. The trees that surrounded him there were like menacing claws, and he walked briskly to get away from them, although, one scraggly bush _did _bear a couple berries that Russia unhesitatingly ate. He really didn't care if they were poisonous or not. It wasn't like he would die anyways.

The moon was a cat's claw in the sky, and the stars were tiny pin pricks of light, bursting through the blackness, when Russia decided he had better settle down for the night. There was no ramshackle house nearby, so he merely lay down on the ground, his back against a scratchy tree, and closed his eyes. Just as he was falling asleep, and little scenes of perfection from his former life were replaying in his head, he heard the sound of gunshots. This was soon followed by the noise of men whooping with joy, and the nearing rumble of a truck. Standing, Russia followed the noise, stepping through the trees.

A truck-full of rough-neck men were driving through the woods in a mud-spattered, dented Chevy. The driver was either drunk or trying to make the other's laugh, for he kept bumping the front of their vehicle into trees and large boulders, and braying random vulgur things out the window. Russia watched them drive around for a while, until finally they chanced to drive past him. They stopped, abruptly when they saw him, and began howling things at him, and at one another. One man seemed to be threatening him, waving a shotgun at Russia's face and blowing a raspberry in his direction, while another was looking him over with a cold, searching look. Russia just stood there the whole time, watching them with interested purple eyes, and smiling politely.

"Hey, hey, boy!" One of them cawed whenever they seemed to have come to a conclusion about him. "You hungry, boy?" He asked. The man speaking was a tall, fat man, with a thick black beard that curled around his chin in greasy strands. He had eyebrows almost as thick as England's, and tiny, beady, black eyes that reminded Russia of a hawk.

Thinking it positively hilarious that this man was addressing him as boy, Russia smiled all the more. "Yes." He said, "I am hungry." and then he chuckled a long, dark, and scrumptious laugh that made all the men shudder where they were - whether they sat squashed together in the truck itself, or parading around in the back.

They seemed to like this however, and the man with the black beard grinned. "You strong, boy?" He boomed down at Russia, flashing his yellow and chipped teeth. "You good with a gun?"

"Yes. Very." He replied, and then added in Russian, "_Better than all of you." _

A murmur seemed to run through all the men at this; it was a mixture of distrust and fascination. None of them knew what Russia had said, that was obvious, but the prospect of him being different from them seemed to make them enthralled. After a moment, the man with the black beard hollered, "Hop in the back, boy! You can come home with us and have some grub, maybe become a part of our family too."

The other men were whooping with agreement. Russia said nothing in response to this, he only lowered his head further into his scarf, and gave them all an eerie, warning smile. He did not trust them, but they were too blind to see it, and he climbed into the back of the truck with ease, and sat among them as if he had known them all his life. He looked relaxed, and completely gullible, but really, he was alert and suspicious.

One the way towards the place where this group of men lived, Russia quickly became acquainted with them all, and learned a little bit about each. The fat man with the black beard was basically their leader, his name was Bart,- he kept them in line, and made sure they all had nice things, they said - and he was extremely clever, or so said his followers, who Russia found to be very dumb. There were twelve men in the truck, and all of them were like sheep, easily herded, and easily manipulated. They all seemed to smell like dirt and dry seaweed, and all had big bushy bears that were coated in some sort of substance or another. All of them had shotguns, and all of them spoke of 'The Hunt' with ravenous looks in their eyes. Russia didn't have to ask to know what they spoke of; it was common for human beings to hunt down and kill others for sport in this age.

Russia found it to be such a disgusting, wasteful sport.

When they reached the house (which was a large undamaged country house in the middle of nowhere), the youngest man named Joven, who had talked non-stop during the entire drive, jabbed Russia in the ribs with his elbow. "Hey man," He began, eyes glittering deviously. "when was the last time you got any?"

For a while Russia did not say anything back. His face turned a shade of red, as memories fluttered back into his mind. Shame overtook him and he leaped out of the back of the truck, fists clenched with fury. Joven and the others didn't seem to notice his rage, and they exited their vehicle with perfect ease. When Russia sensed the youngest hooligan's presence behind him, he put on a smile, plastic and false, and turned. "It's been a long time." He murmured. "Not at all, since December 22nd."

Joven laughed loudly. His tubby stomach jiggled, his beard bobbed up and down, and he threw back his head and hooted. The others seemed to know this meant something interesting, and they gathered around Russia with knowing smirks on their faces. "Guys, he hasn't had sex since the _world ended_!" Joven announced loudly, and everyone began to talk in high, excited voiced amongst himself. Russia wanted to bite his lip, but he didn't want to seem worried, so he just kept up his facade of smiling stupidly.

The man called Bart stepped out of the mob of men then, his swollen, hairy face seeming to shine in the light of the crescent moon. "Well, I have just the thing to fix that problem." He had a thunderous voice when he said this, and he clapped his hand onto Russia's shoulder as if they were the best friends in the world. Russia smiled at him cheerily, although inside he felt detached. "Boys, go about fixing dinner and being useful," Bart told the other men. "I'm going to show our new recruit our lovely little toy."

As the other men scurried off, Bart practically tugged Russia inside the house. The inside was not as grand as the outside: it was littered with grime, scattered torn clothing, bits of decaying food, and every now and then, a little red stain of blood. It made Russia's nose wrinkle in disgust at the very sight of it, not to mention the horrendous _smell_, but he said not a word and allowed this stranger to lead him deeper into the house. They went down a winding staircase, towards what Russia assumed was a basement. He winced at that, remembering his _own _basement, remembering the chain that used to hang from the wall...

Unlocking the basement door, Bart explained, "You see, we found this wonderful creature when we were out on The Hunt one day. The magical thing about it is that it cannot die. It _does _have the body of a man, but if it really bothers you that much you can just cut the cock off. It'll grow back anyways, eventually." Eyes twinkling, Bart slipped into the darkness, holding up a finger that signaled for Russia to wait. Russia did so, his eyes twinkling down into the darkness. His stomach was roiling with illness, and his hands were twitching with anticipation. He remembered, vaguely, that he still had his lead pipe on him, it was inside his coat, ready to be used...

What emerged from that basement horrified Russia beyond belief. His phony smile actually faltered for a moment, and he had to be quick to put it back together. He made himself grin, as if he enjoyed the sight of what he saw. Bart grinned back, tugging hard on the chain that wound around the battered person's pale neck. "It doesn't need to eat to live." Bart said coolly. "So we don't waste our provisions on it."

There was a blindfold across the person's face, a filthy gag in their mouth, and they were bound at the wrists and chained at the neck, but still Russia _knew _who it was. Dear god, he knew what _country _it was.

"Would you like to use a bedroom?" Bart inquired.

Blinking, as he had only half been paying attention, Russia nodded. His eyes did not leave the helpless country before him...but no, that was not right, _that _country wasn't helpless, not at all...

"Haha, eager are we?" The black-bearded man boomed languidly, and he roughly dragged the captured country from the basement and out to the foot of the stairs. For a moment, Russia dreaded having to climb up - Bart was going to drag _him _up the stairs, he just knew it - but then Bart turned, and went around the stairs. There was a room situated directly under there, much to Russia enjoyment. Bart opened it with one meaty hand, and shoved his prisoner in with the other. The captive fell face down upon the bed, and didn't stir at all. "Well, have your fun. When you're done, just throw it back into the basement and lock the door. There's a little latch." Bart said, chuckling to himself. He then gave Russia a little urging push into the room, and shut the door. Russia stood there, waiting until he heard the man's footsteps fade away.

When all seemed quiet and safe, Russia strode to the bed and sat down beside _him_. The limp body did not move a muscle as Russia did so, not until Russia gently put his arms around him and lifted him, then he began to squirm. It was awful. Russia reached his hands forwards and untied the gag from his mouth, then removed it and tossed it to the side. There were sores where the gag had been, along with other disgruntling substances around the country's mouth, but once freed, he did nothing more than to drink in the air. Russia untied his hands next, and then, recalling his nation's strength, broke the chain around his neck. When he finally removed the blindfold, his hands were shaking. "Litva..."

The Baltic's eyes were half-glazed over with confusion as he stared up at Russia's face, his head tilting slightly, as if he were trying to comprehend. After a while he shut his eyes, laying back in Russia's arms. His head fell back, baring his white throat, which had suffered much abuse and was lacerated with dried blood and bruises. "Put me back, Russia." He rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Put me back...or have your way, and put me back, but put me back...they'll hurt the boy if I don't behave..."

Forehead creasing with concern, Russia asked, "What boy?" He let his hand fall forwards and dive into his former subordinates long, brown hair. "Lithuania, I _know _you could have killed all of these men. Maybe not in the state you are now, but surely before... Why-"

"I _was _killing them!" Lithuania snapped, and his eyes clicked open, narrowed slits of emerald fire. "There were twenty. They were hunting _people_. I was trying to stop them, Russia, and I _was_..." He trailed off for a moment, and made a face, as if he tasted something bitter in his mouth. He spat onto the floor, shaking relentlessly, and continued his story, fists clenched with hatred. In all of his life, Russia had never seen such hatred in Lithuania. It was...unsettling.

"I was looking for other countries, at first, but then I saw _them. _I knew what they were doing, and I decided to stop it." Lithuania began to explain. "I followed them... They were hunting a woman, and with her a little boy. I don't know if they wanted them to kill, or use them for other purposes, but I meant to save them... I found the woman and the boy. Her name was Esmerelda. The child was an orphan she'd found... I told them to run, I did, and they ran, they ran...and I waited."

He paused, caught in an episode of shaking, and Russia had to reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly to stop it. Nodding his thanks, the Baltic continued, "When they came, I started slaughtering them. Twenty men, Russia, I couldn't keep track of all of them - it wasn't my fault!" Tears came to his eyes now, he couldn't stop them. "B-but I had killed around, oh, eight, with my _bare hands _while they had _guns_ and they were shooting me, but I wouldn't die. Eight men down...and then I heard the screaming. Some men had broken away from the mob, and they had captured Esmerelda and the boy. I broke away from the fight I was attending to - I _ran _to them. By the time I got there, it was too late for the woman. One of the men had shot at her, and they hit their mark. It went through her head, and she was lying on the ground in a bloody mess of skull and brains while the men ransacked her body for valuables.

"The boy was spattered with Esmerelda's blood. It covered his whole body...it was horrid, he was weeping too...and the men started saying _things_, Russia, talking about _using _him for...good gods, what they use me for! I would have killed more, really, I was going to, but Bart _saw _the look in my eyes! He knew I felt for the child...and he pressed the gun to his head. 'Now, now, immortal cretin,' He snarled at me, 'Perhaps you'd like to surrender yourself, and we can make an echange?' So I surrendered. I told them, I wouldn't fight, I'd be theirs, as long as they didn't harm the boy in any way... They laughed at me. 'Let's test your loyalty' Bart said, and he continued to hold the gun to the kid's head...and then, Russia, all fucking twelve of them...they...they..." It seemed for a moment that Lithuania was going to be unable to finish. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he tightened his grip around Russia's hand that was holding his. Finally, he blurted out, tears streaming down his cheeks, "They t-took turns, right in front of the child, they fucked me bloody, one after the other after the other!

"...when they were done they dragged me back to the house. I was in shock. I saw they had the boy though...I have to be good...for the boy...for the boy..." He seemed to fall into a state of incoherence then, and he sat up, pressing himself against Russia's chest and clinging onto his coat. "So put me back, hurry up. Fuck me and put me back so I can protect him..." His body shook more with each word he spoke, and the tears falling from his beautiful eyes were soaking into the arctic nation's clothing. Russia had no words to describe the way he felt.

Wordlessly, Russia held the smaller country against him, slowly running his fingers through his Lithuania's soft hair, and down his small back. His eyes flashed a little bit, as he recalled the scars that were on there. He wondered if they had healed up yet... He hoped they had, even though it would not excuse anything... "Toris," He murmured in Lithuania's ear, patting him softly between the shoulder blades. "I'm going to put you back in the basement. I won't lock the door. When I come back, I'll have your boy with me, and we'll leave this place forever. No one will ever touch you again, and I'll take you somewhere warm...and safe...where sunflowers and rue grow together, all around...and our house won't have a basement, and we'll all sleep together in one giant bed, and never have any nightmares..." He trailed off. The childish side of him had taken over, and he blushed at it.

Lithuania seemed to notice, and through his pain, he smiled the teeniest bit. "I would like that..." He whispered hoarsely, and, it seemed his tears stopped falling.


End file.
